


I'd Come for You

by SailorLestrade



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, John's a bit oblivious, M/M, Sherlock is a bit crazy, based off the movie, lonely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 06:12:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2611337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorLestrade/pseuds/SailorLestrade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off of A Game of Shadows. Sherlock is trying to move on, but him moving on gets him into trouble</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I started this awhile ago and just decided to post the first chapter. I hope you enjoy it :)

_By now you'd know that I'd come for you_  
No one but you, yes I’d come for you  
But only if you told me to  
And I’d fight for you  
I'd lie, it's true  
Give my life for you  
You know I’d always come for you 

~ “I’d Come For You” by Nickelback

****

Sally and Anderson, meeting for a lunch date to catch up, and so Sally could babysit the thoroughly obsessed former bobby. As they walked to a favorite Chinese restaurant of theirs, they saw someone getting the crap beat out of them in an alleyway.

“Hey!” Sally called. “Police!”

“Shit!” Someone yelled, and the four men took off running. The man they were beating stood up, a wig and fake beard in hand.

“I had them right where I wanted them, Sally.” Sherlock Holmes said, walking out of the alley towards then. Sally knew that Anderson was fighting the urge to have a mega fan boy moment. She rolled her eyes.

“If you didn’t insist on constantly meeting up with drug dealers in back alleys, I wouldn’t have to say anything.” She said. Sherlock smirked at her. “What are you doing anyway? Better not be buying anything. You know how much Lestrade would love that.”

“I’m working a case.” Sherlock said. “A client wants me to track her package for her. I know where it’s going now.”

“Isn’t that what FedEx is for?” Sally asked, crossing her arms. Sherlock just smiled at her.

“Ever so observant Donovan.” He said. “You’re a treasure to the force. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

“Where’s your handler?” Sally asked. Anderson was completely speechless at seeing Sherlock in action. And he was too busy taking notes of the entire thing to take back to his fan club. Sherlock turned back around and looked at her.

“My handler? Oh, you mean John.” Sherlock said. “He’s busy.”

“Maybe I should give him a call…” Sally said, pulling out her phone. Sherlock quickly pounced and put his hand over the screen.

“I wouldn’t do that.” Sherlock said. “We shouldn’t inconvenience him at work.”

“Okay, I’ll just send him a text then.” She said. Sherlock pulled the phone from her hand. “Hey!”

“I wouldn’t do that either.” He said. “John’s a very busy man, as am I.”

“You look busy.” She said, looking at his dirty and torn clothing. “Go home Sherlock. Lestrade will have a case for you soon.” She pulled her phone back from his hands.

“I have a case.” Sherlock said. He was like a rabbit on speed, bouncing his foot like he was anxious to go. “Now, if you’ll excuse me!” He took off running. Sally watched him sprinting down the street.

“I will never understand that man.” Sally said. She glanced over at Anderson. “What are you doing Phil?”

“What?” He asked, barely glancing up from his notebook. She just shook her head.

“Come on, let’s go eat.” She pulled him by his arm down the sidewalk to their restaurant.

****

The lady Sherlock had been tailing carried a wrapped package into an auction house. He knew that she was someone who worked for The Woman at one point in time. He couldn’t figure out who she was working for now, but he knew that her new boss couldn’t be up to any good.

She set down next to an older gentleman in the back row, but the old dusty tapestry that was believed to have once hung in the palace. Sherlock highly doubted it, but he had bigger things to worry about right now.

“He thanks you for his help.” She whispered, handing the old man to her left the wrapped parcel. He gingerly shook it.

“It’s a little light, no?” He asked. Sherlock could tell by the faint twitch in her eye that she was nervous, and he was sure he knew exactly why.

“I was assured it was all there.” She said calmly. He handed her an envelope.

“Make sure that he gets this.” He told her. She slipped the envelope into her jacket pocket and stood to leave. He snagged her wrist. She looked down at him with such alarm. “Stay until I check to make sure that the contents are all here. Please?” She set down, moving her hand nervously as he unwrapped the brown paper from the box.

“I doubt he would cheat you.” She said, looking around.

“Ah yes, but he who? Have either of us actually seen him in person?” The old man chuckled. He pulled away the paper to show an elegantly crafted wooden box. He pulled off the lid, expecting to see money, but instead, he saw the torn pages of a book and a hammer and spring system, much like you would find on a mouse trap. But as quickly as he had seen it, an auction card was thrust under it, to keep it from moving.

“I’m guessing by the look on your face that you weren’t expecting that.” Sherlock said, standing between the old man and Ms. Kate Chevalier. He turned and smiled at her. “Hello darling, long time no see.”

“Mr. Holmes.” She said, slightly annoyed. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“Following you for a client.” Sherlock said. “And I was bored.” He quickly glanced over at the old man, who was about to set the box, containing a bomb, on the floor. “Now, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. One tiny little move and suddenly you’re in the afterlife of your choosing.”

“Who is this?” The man asked, completely missing Kate calling him Mr. Holmes. Sherlock was slightly offended. He thought everyone knew who he was. Kate sighed.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for dinner?” She asked. “I know how you always kept Ms. Adler waiting. And I do run a tight schedule.” He kissed her cheek then and pulled the letter from her pocket. She knew that he had, but there were bigger problems. For the man with the box had pulled aside one of the pieces of paper, triggering the bomb to start its countdown again.

“I told you not to move it.” Sherlock snapped at him. “Why doesn’t anyone ever listen to me?” Kate went to stand up, as to avoid getting caught in the blast. She felt a firm hand on her shoulder, pushing her back down into her chair. “My dear, I’m probably going to require your assistance is disposing of this parcel. So if you wouldn’t mind keeping your chair warm.” Around them, an auction of an ancient, and supposedly cursed, sarcophagus was getting heated. Sherlock looked at the bomb then a light went off in his head.

“One million pounds!” He called out, not even know what the last bid was, all the while flicking open his lighter and placing it close to the tapestry by him. Everyone turned to look at him, eyes wide and gasping. “Oh, and fire.” He said calmly as the cloth went up into flames. When no one made a move to leave, he growled. “Fire!” He yelled.

Soon, there was a stampede of formal wear heading to the door, avoiding the warm flames that were spreading. Kate started to go with the crowd, but Sherlock snagged her wrist.

“Leave my side and you’ll be dead within an hour.” He said. “Stay with me, and I’ll keep you alive.”

“I think I can handle myself, no thanks to you.” She said. She stood closer to him, like she was going to kiss him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her remove a handkerchief from her pocket, one inscribed with a blood red I and A. “Ms. Adler sends her love.” She said, trying to slip the handkerchief into the pocket Sherlock had put the letter in, so she could trade it with the letter.

“Sorry, but not this time Kate.” Sherlock said, pulling her hand away. “You should really play Operation more. You need to learn not to touch the sides.” She huffed.

“Don’t be late for dinner.” She reminded him yet again. He laughed.

“Trust me, I won’t. And maybe we’ll read this letter together over some Italian food?” He said. She smiled and walked away. Sherlock watched her for a second before turning his attention back to the terrified man with the bomb in his lap. Sherlock grabbed the box from him.

“What are you…” The man said, standing up.

“Stay.” Sherlock said. “Trust me, I do this for a living and it can be quite a show.” Sherlock said, running down the aisle that had been set up between the chairs. He rushed to the open sarcophagus and tossed the bomb inside before slamming the lid shut. “And you, Mr. Alfred Meinhard, should consider yourself very lucky I was here. You see, this faceless man you are working with is no ordinary person. I haven’t been able to pinpoint exactly who he is, but I swear on my name sir, that I will figure it out!” He pushed the once priceless artifact into a storage vault.

“And what exactly is your name?” Mr. Meinhard said, slowly slipping towards the door. He could tell this man just loved to have his ego fueled.

“I, sir, am the greatest ally you will ever have.” Sherlock said, pushing the heavy item into the vault and hoping it wouldn’t blow the whole place up. “I’m a consulting detective, the only one in the world. The name is Sherlock…” The bomb exploded then, being dulled by the thick walls of its container, but still sending up a thick black smoke and dust combination. “H-Holmes.” Sherlock said, coughing. He turned around to see that Mr. Meinhard had left the building and sighed. “Nobody appreciates a good resume anymore I’m guessing.”

Sighing, Sherlock, dirty and smelling of burnt concrete, walked out of the auction house where people were standing, gawking. Sherlock rolled his eyes at them, never understanding why people always felt the need to stop and stare at accidents. But he had a bigger problem on his mind. He needed to find. Mr. Meinhard and find out just what he knew about the mystery man Kate was working for. He had been tracking things for a while now, hoping to find his next biggest target with Moriarty dead and his web taken out, but this was even stumping the world’s greatest consulting detective.

He wove his way through the crowd of people, looking for hopefully his next client. And he found him all right. He was dead, propped up against the wall, eyes closed, and face slightly swollen.

“Damn it.” Sherlock growled. He looked at his body then noticed something slightly familiar. It would’ve been barely noticeable, if at all, to the normal human eye, but this was Sherlock Holmes and he had special eyes that could notice the smallest of details. There was a tiny dart sticking out of the man’s arm. Sherlock plucked it out and examined it. He had seen something like this before when he was destroying a spider’s web. He slipped it into his pocket and turned around and looked across the street.

Standing there was a man he hadn’t seen in months. A man that Sherlock had left for dead in the mountains of Romania. But here he was, standing across from him, cigarette between his lips and a match lighting it.

“Hello Mr. Holmes!” The man called out before a bus drove by. Once it had moved out of his view, Sherlock realized the man was gone, blended into the commonwealth of London like a criminal mastermind. Sherlock quickly rushed back to his flat, because now, he was sure who the faceless man Kate and Mr. Meinhard had been talking to. A protégée of sorts. Someone groomed into the form of James Moriarty with a different face.

That’s right, Sebastian Moran was alive and well, and Sherlock Holmes knew that meant trouble.

****

Kate settled into the seat of a favorite restaurant of hers and Ms. Adler’s. They had come here several times over the course of their time together, and Kate still came here often, even though Ms. Adler was away. The table she always set at had been prepared already for her lunch, but Kate, after the incident at the auction house, couldn’t be more nervous. Her waiter, a young boy by the name of George, came over.

“Hello Ms. Chevalier.” He said, smiling. “The usual?”

“Could I get a fresh pot of tea George?” She asked. “And I might browse the menu today if you don’t mind.”

“I’ll bring the tea right out.” He said, handing her a menu and taking her old pot away. Kate placed her napkin in her lap and began to search for what she wanted to eat.

“Fine choice.” She heard someone say. This was a special restaurant, with curtain placed as dividers to give diners some more privacy. She couldn’t see the face of the person sitting next to her, but she could see his hands. He was writing something and his fingers were stained with tobacco. But she was sure she knew who it was. “Do you have the letter for me?” Kate’s face was full of fear.

‘Damn it Holmes.’ She thought to herself as she tried to think of what to say to her boss.

“Well?” He asked, a little impatient.

“It was taken sir.” She said shakily. She saw him put his pencil down.

“Taken?” He asked. She gulped slightly. “That is most unfortunate, isn’t it?” George brought her the new teapot and poured her a cup.

“It happened during the chaos caused by your package.” She explained. She took a sip from her cup. “Perhaps, if you had been more willing to share your plan…” She heard the faint sound of a dark chuckle.

“You wish to know more of my plan now?” He asked. He chuckled again. It sent chills down her spine. “Did you think that something was going to happen to you, Ms. Chevalier? Is that why you picked to come here instead of our normal meeting place? Your favorite restaurant, where a scene is less likely to take place?” She heard a cling then, like when someone hits the stem of a glass to make a toast. She watched then as everyone stood up and filed out of the building, including George, who seemed under some sort of trance.

Kate watched everyone leave. One man set a few tables down. She knew that this was one of the lackeys that followed her boss around like a dog. He grinned smugly at her. She felt her heart freeze with fear. What was going to happen to her?

The curtain divider was pushed aside and he was staring at her. She didn’t want to look over though. That would mean he was real. And she didn’t want him to be real, so she focused on the floral pattern on her saucer and cup.

“I don’t blame you.” He said, his voice like an ice pick to her heart. She knew she was going to die, and she knew he was going to kill her. Her hand trembled slightly. “I blame myself.” He said. That made her raise an eyebrow. “It’s been apparent to me for some time that you had a close friendship with…him. And I understand he saved your life on several occasions. But this isn’t the first time that Mr. Holmes has inconvenienced me. Trust me, he’s done it several times. But that’s not my point. Really, it’s the question. What should I do about it?” He asked.

Kate finally looked over at him, seeing his face for the first time. There was a scar by his eye. She was sure that it was probably compliments of Sherlock. He wasn’t dressed fancy. In fact, he was dressed like she imagined a young adult would dress. He had dog tags around his neck. She already knew his name, but she had no idea that he had served in the military. His face was cold and hardened. She had seen the same look in the eyes of John Watson. He had served overseas as well. It made her wonder if the man she was currently looking had been forced to watch someone he cared for die.

“But,” He said, continuing his speech. “That’s my problem now.” His lackey was grinning still. He knew what was coming next. “I no longer require your services Ms. Chevalier.” He turned away from her then and took a sip of the soda sitting in front of him. Kate quickly stood up and started for the exit. That’s when it hit her.

There was a loud noise as she collapsed against a table. She grabbed the table cloth as she fell, knocking everything off onto the floor and the white draping her now unmoving body. The man took a sip of his soda and watched her, a dark smile curling on his lips.

****

Sherlock was waiting at the restaurant where he had arranged to meet Kate. The letter was safe in his pocket, along with a decoy one in his other and on the table, just in case she got curious. But as he looked around, looking at all the laughing and smiling couples, he felt something in his chest. He just hoped that John and Mary were having a nice time out on their own date. Sherlock slumped into his seat. 

She wasn’t coming.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John sees that his friend has, in fact, gone crazy.

John walked down the sidewalk in front of Baker Street the next morning, his adorable little bulldog pulling on his leash. He was anxious to see Uncle Sherlock. They always had such marvelous adventures together. After Mary had lost the baby, they decided that it was best to wait awhile and just adopt the dog instead. Sherlock had grown attached to the little slobbering mess, but mainly as an outlet for his experiments. After Sherlock killing and bringing Gladstone back to life after the sixth time, John and Mary put an end to his dog sitting duties and instead, opted to ask Lestrade or Mrs. Hudson. But Gladstone always ended up in 221B.

John walked inside, always feeling at home inside the building even though it wasn’t his anymore. Gladstone pulled on his leash, ready to run up the stairs and into Sherlock’s place. John knelt down and undid the clasp, allowing his dog free roam of the place.

“Mrs. Hudson?” John called. He saw a note on her door, explaining she had something to do and she would be back soon, and that he should go up and visit his boyfriend for a while. John sighed and crumpled the note up. How many times did he have to tell her he wasn’t gay? Finally, he followed Gladstone upstairs. He was sitting in front of the closed door that John was sure Sherlock usually left open.

“Sherlock?” John asked, knocking on the door. “Sherlock, you in there?” John looked down at Gladstone. “Guess we should just go in then, right?” He asked. Gladstone wagged his stubby little tail. John smiled at him.

He turned the door knob and the door swung open, revealing tons of plants sitting around. Some were exotic, some not. John stood in the doorway, staring at it all. Gladstone ran in before John finally unrooted himself and walked into the once peaceful flat. Had his friend really gone mad?

“Where am I?” He heard Sherlock whisper somewhere in the room as he worked his way through the mini jungle in the middle of London.

“I don’t care where you are as long as you have clothes on this time.” John said, making his way to where he was sure Sherlock’s desk was. He saw his friend sitting in a chair, facing the window.

“I’ve been waiting.” Sherlock whispered. John rolled his eyes. It was always dramatics with him.

“Sherlock, I’m not playing games.” John said. “If we’re going to go out, we have to go already.” He looked at the window then felt something pinch his back. He turned around and saw nothing. Sighing, he set down. “Okay, okay. You win, I lose.” He set down and opened up the paper, only to have a dart fly through it and hit him in the shoulder. He heard laughing. “Was that really necessary?”

“It wasn’t a blow dart gun then.” Sherlock said, stepping out of the greenery wearing a sheet that matched the vegetation perfectly. John glared at him.

“I’m not taking you anywhere dressed like that. People will already think you’re drunk.”

“Do you expect me to wear that thing Mary made me for my birthday?” Sherlock asked. John laughed.

“That thing was a jumper and no, I don’t expect you to wear it.” John said. “But you are not wearing a sheet to the bar.”

“Oh, we’re not going to the bar.” Sherlock said. “Garth will be joining us. We’re going to a gentlemen’s club.” John laughed. “What?”

“Oh how I’ve missed you.” John said, laughing. Sherlock was suddenly in his face, like he was sniffing for cigarette smoke that might be stuck to John’s clothes.

“Have you?” Sherlock asked. “I’ve barely noticed you weren’t here.” John snorted. He figured then that Sherlock probably had gone back to talking to his skull. Sherlock turned away. “I’m doing so much research.”

“What for this time?” John asked, amused watching Sherlock and his ramblings.

“Something to counter anything that might slow or stop the heart. Like pure adrenaline, but stronger.” He explained. “And figuring out who exactly sent out that message to all of us. And I think I might have finally had a breakthrough.”

John had to roll his eyes. Ever since every TV in London was hijacked, showing James Moriarty’s face with a simple, yet creepy message of “Miss Me?” Sherlock had been on a downward spiral into insanity. Mr. Holmes said that he was starting to resemble stories of his great great great grandfather, who went mad and jumped off a cliff. That’s when they heard the sound of someone walking through the vegetation. Sherlock, armed with his blow gun, was ready for anything.

“Ah, Mrs. Hudson.” John said, smiling. She was carrying a box in her hands. She smiled back.

“John! You took my advice after all.” She said, looking relieved. John sighed, but didn’t bother to argue with the woman again. It was like trying to win a disagreement with his mother or sister; it wasn’t going to happen. “Thank you for the beautiful birthday present you sent me.”

“Anytime Mrs. Hudson. And thank you so much for watching Gladstone. Greg’s busy this weekend and said that where he’s staying doesn’t really care for dogs.” Mrs. Hudson laughed. Everyone knew where Greg Lestrade would be staying, they weren’t that slow. But still, he insisted on telling people he would be out of town at a convention or staying at his families, and no one bother to tell him that they knew.

“And I’ll try to keep him out of Sherlock’s grasp.” Mrs. Hudson laughed. Sherlock dropped his blow gun then, making the two look at him.

“May I have a word?” Sherlock said. He grabbed the box and ripped it open, revealing six living mice. John jumped then. He hated mice and actually was surprised Sherlock didn’t have any yet, but Mrs. Hudson was good at keeping the place clean. Well, she used to be, until Sherlock stopped letting her in. “Yummy.” Sherlock said, licking his lips. “Who wants to feed the snake?”

“You got a snake?” John asked. Sherlock just smiled.

“Sherlock, you feed your own snake.” Mrs. Hudson said. Sherlock carried the box over to a tank on the other side of the room. Mrs. Hudson quickly walked over to John. “John, he needs to go to an institution.” She said, plucking the skinny dart from John’s shoulder.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“All I’ve seen him eat up here is coffee beans and Nutella. All he drinks is tea. And he’s been going through more cigarettes then any bar I ever….visited.” She explained. “He never sleeps. I hear multiple voices as if he’s reading from a script, and I’m pretty sure he’s just talking to his skull.” John laughed silently.

“Leave him to me. I’ll get our Sherlock back.” He said. That’s when Sherlock appeared behind Mrs. Hudson.

“Dear, don’t you have a coat that needs mending?” He asked. He had torn one of his replacement coats and had asked her to have it fixed. Mrs. Hudson smiled, glad that she could quickly leave now.

“That’s right.” She said. “John, just bring Gladstone down when you’re ready.” Quickly, she departed. Sherlock turned back to look at John.

“Why are you here again?” Sherlock asked. John sighed.

“Mary and I are taking a train to Brighton for a long weekend, remember?” John said. “So Mary and I agree that I’d be good to spend some time with you, so you don’t feel lonely.” Sherlock huffed. “What is it?”

“I’m not lonely John.” Sherlock said. He walked behind John and pulled the dart from his back before walking back in front of him, like he was in some old Western standoff.

“You’ve lost a few pounds.” John said.

“And it looks like you’ve picked them up.” He retorted. “I’m assuming Mary’s a good cook then?”

“She is, yes, but I do a lot of the cooking.” Sherlock started to laugh. “What is it now?”

“You? Cook? You never did that when you lived here.”

“That’s because there were always bloody body parts in the fridge and chemicals in the pantry!” John said. Sherlock put a finger to his lips.

“Shhh John, we do have neighbors you know.” Sherlock started to walk away. John rolled his eyes but followed. John followed him into his old bedroom. Inside, he saw that Sherlock’s old web of information had expanded and had grown too big for just a bulletin board. It needed its own room. He realized then just how far his best friend had sunk. He was obsessed.

“I see you’ve made good use of my old bedroom.” John said, slowly walking in. Sherlock was behind a screen, changing clothes.

“Do you like it?” Sherlock asked. “It took a while to get it ready. Making sure that I got every single part correct.” John followed a strand by his head to the board. “What does a hijacking in Serbia, an assassination in Hungry, followed by several incidents of robbery in Germany, France, and Scotland all have to do with each other?” Sherlock asked. John followed all the strands from websites and newspapers to the picture of one man in the center of it all.

“Colonel Sebastian Moran?” John asked.

“Indeed.” Sherlock said as John continued to explore the webs.

“But, he’s dead. You told me he was the last of Moriarty’s followers and he died in Romania.” John said.

“I was also dead for two years John.” Sherlock said. John’s heart shuddered a bit at those memories.

“Do you have any evidence proving that Moran is alive?” John asked. He remembered Sherlock telling him a story of how Moran was the most elusive part of Moriarty’s network, being his right hand man and confident. He had almost escaped into the Ukraine when Sherlock had finally cornered him in Romania and had a bitter fight with him in his hideout in the mountains. The last pillar of the mighty Moriarty’s empire to fall before Sherlock could finally come home.

“This.” Sherlock said, coming out from behind the screen in the clothes that John was used to seeing him in. He pointed at the obituary for Mr. Meinhard. John read it. He had heard of Mr. Meinhard from the news and talk shows, as well as the newspaper and various sources on the internet. He was the long distant relative of Lord Blackwood, a man who, in the 1800’s, tried to claim that he was a warlock and convince parliament to follow his orders by convincing them that he would kill the non-believers through magic. They didn’t know that his followers already had gas blocker in them, and he didn’t know that his system had been dissembled by a woman and two men. The lord ended up hanging from a chain from the under construction London Bridge. Sherlock had done extensive research on Lord Blackwood while at university. He found the man interesting.

“Alfred Meinhard?” John asked, reading the name. “The long distant relative of the infamous Lord Blackwood. He goes on TV and tells people that he has magic and does tricks for money. Doesn’t he have the cult that hangs out around West Lancahire?”

“Had, John.” Sherlock said. “This is the obituary of one Mr. Alfred Meinhard.”

“Oh, wow.” John said. “He died of a heart attack?”

“Kate was supposed to kill him with a bomb, but I saved his life.” Sherlock said.

“Only for him to be found dead on a sidewalk in London.” John said. “Sounds like Mr. Meinhard was not a lucky man.”

“And that was no heart attack.” Sherlock said. “Someone is playing a game of cat and mouse with me, and I’m pretty sure that someone is Sebastian Moran.” He took a drink of something. Formaldehyde. John chose to ignore it though. With the way Sherlock had been recently, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. John just sighed.

“Sherlock, maybe you should rest…”

“I cannot rest John. He must be stopped!” 

“And let me guess, you have to be the one to stop him?”

“The victims can’t help. Lestrade’s beloved police force is incompetent. My brother’s government wouldn’t lift a finger. No one can do it except…”

“Except the great Sherlock Holmes.” John said, finishing him off.

“Correct.” Sherlock said, his little smirk he got when John impressed him making its way onto his face.

“And this diet of yours will help you work it all out?” John asked.

“Of course. Just transport John.” Sherlock said. “Did you learn nothing while living with me?”

“I learned that you categorize your socks by size, color, and fiber. I learned that you never changed your SMS tone from when The Woman changed it…”

“To good health.” Sherlock said then, downing the rest of his glass. That’s when they heard the sound of whimpering coming from the living room. They looked to see Gladstone laying there.

“Oh god Sherlock, what have you done to Gladstone now?” John asked, going to his dogs’ side. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“I was standing by you the entire time.” Sherlock said, walking to his desk and grabbing a pouch. “He must have eaten a leaf off of one of the toxic plants.” Sherlock said, looking down at them.

“He’s barely breathing.” John said, holding his hand in front of Gladstone’s snout.

“Really? Excellent!” Sherlock said. He dropped to his knees and pulled a needle from the pouch and quickly stabbed Gladstone in the side. “You don’t mind, do you?” John slowly looked over at Sherlock.

“How many times are you going to kill my dog?” John asked. Sherlock pulled the needle up and Gladstone jumped up and ran around the flat like his tail was on fire. John and Sherlock watched him. “I might need one of those by the end of the weekend.” John said. Sherlock smiled and pushed the pouch against his chest.

“Consider it a gift.” Sherlock said. He grabbed his coat then. “Come on. Go drop Gladstone off with Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock said, walking to the door. John sighed, called Gladstone, and followed Sherlock out the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Should I post more of it?


End file.
